A Glimpse of Dawn (fear no more)
by Landwerda
Summary: Their world is breaking at the seams; monsters are flooding out of the darkness. Riley and the others fight for Will, while he fights for their souls. (It's a dangerous world, they live in, and fear can no longer stop them.)
1. Riley: July 7

The sun is watery, in the mornings, in Iceland.

The air is crisp and cool; Riley remembers winter wind and snow- they're her strongest memories of her home- but now, it's the middle of summer. Will is a comforting weight on her lap, solid and grounding in a world with too many unknowns. It feels _good,_ the silence, but it also feels dangerous- the calm before the storm.

"I've spoken to Sven," she murmurs aloud, and Wolfgang shimmers into view before her, cross-legged on the rocking boat. "We should be in Norway in three days."

He nods, hand tightening on the wooden balustrade. "I'll meet you there. How much medication d'you have?"

Too little, in reality. Even more than that, there's a real chance of overdosing Will, and too little of a chance that they can get away from Whispers without being caught. Wolfgang joining them doesn't mean much of anything, really, other than a greater chance of being captured.

"We'll make it work."

He hesitates for a long moment, eyes colorless in the early-morning sun, then straightens a little- a warrior marshaling his strength. "Why Norway?"

"I can speak fluent Icelandic," she says quizzically, "and a lot of West Norwegian dialects are… closely related. And I have some money stored there, that we can use." When Wolfgang arches an eyebrow, she shrugs tensely. "I was a… troubled child. Paranoid. And I had some stuff put away, if anything bad happened."

"Not paranoia if they're really after you, eh?"

The laughter is more bitter than she'd have expected, but, at the same time, she's glad that there's someone who can mitigate the worst of her fears. Three days alone on a boat with just her fears and Will… madness would have been kind, at the end of it.

"Still paranoia," she says, "but _justifiable."_

A breath, and Nomi appears- not the gentle shimmer that had been Wolfgang but an almost-violent shift of light to solidity. Her words, though, are gentler than Riley would have expected: "We'll send you some money, untraceable, don't worry. The three of you need to disappear, and running across the Atlantic'll draw attention."

"So, what," Riley asks, rubbing a finger over Will's collarbone again and again, "do you want us to do?"

Her eyes are brighter than Riley'd been expecting; the sunlight hurts against the backdrop of the ocean, and the two Sensates next to her are less substantial than she'd realized. In a dream they were real, but with her eyes open she thinks the play of light across their clothes is a little too fake for them to appear realistic. If it were anyone else, she'd have thought Nomi on drugs- except she's _connected_ to Nomi, now, and she's nothing of the sort.

"Head across Europe," she says softly. "Into Asia. There's a lot of confusion, down there. Easier to disappear. You can pick up Kala and Sun- I can go with Amanita to Africa some time and meet up with Capheus."

Wolfgang looks like he's bitten on a sour lemon. "And if we get caught, it'll be too easy for Whispers to find us, and _remove_ us."

Her fears exactly. But what her mind is saying is stupid might or might not be true; her heart has always ruled Riley, and right now all she wants is to be with the other Sensates. She _won't_ let herself lose them.

And… that transmitted to Wolfgang.

Who looks a lot like he's been punched in the gut, in more ways than one.

 _Why…_

Ah.

Kala's refused to meet with them for a _long_ time. After she saved her in the facility, she apparently disappeared. Capheus had mentioned her, briefly, but disappeared soon after, so it probably meant that there was some sort of tiff going on between her and Wolfgang.

Still- it isn't really her place, and she has bigger things to worry about.

"We can't remain separate, though. There's safety in numbers."

"Not when there's _eight_ of us against _thousands of them!_ We can't-"

"Then what do you suggest?" Sun asks, and Riley almost shrieks from fright. Sun is seated, stiffly, against the back of the boat, a distended shadow the only thing visible of her presence. She looks slightly irritated, but mostly calm- calmer than the last time Riley'd seen her.

Wolfgang glares. "We stay apart. Keep Will safe, in an unidentifiable house _somewhere._ And we take turns guarding it- one month, one person. We can iron out the details later."

"How is that fair to _him_?!"

Riley sighs. "It isn't, Nomi. But it might be our best chance to reconnect with the world, without a proper failsafe. We keep calendars away from Will for a couple weeks, and set him up in a town, and we keep him safe. I can stay the first month, and we can work out a way to protect each other then. Just in case, we'll move him every month, yeah?"

"Amateur Witness Protection," Nomi says wryly, but her face still looks flushed.

Sun unfolds herself from the stern, gracefully, a paper crane made out of cut-diamond. She looks slightly tired, and there are bruises ringing her knuckles, but also lighter- a burden loosened off her shoulders.

"Do you not think," she asks levelly, dark eyes locked on Nomi's, "that we would not try something else if we had a _choice?"_

Nomi's back stiffens, but it's Lito who says, roughly, "When we make choices, we have to either live with it- or fix it. Smart man told me that, once." The way his eyes cut to Wolfgang's isn't a mistake, Riley thinks. "So, can we live with imprisoning Will?"

The boat is getting crowded. One more person and it'll go from stuffy to _congested,_ and-

-Capheus appears.

Her sigh goes unnoticed, but the others also settle down in his presence, like a breath of fresh air to alcoholics. He takes the time, too, to pat Wolfgang on the shoulder; to hug Lito; to embrace Nomi and nod at Sun- but when he comes to Riley and Will, all he looks is _sad._

"We can ask him, soon," he says, reaching out and sweeping a lock of Will's hair back. Then, "how are you?"

Her lips kick up in a vague attempt at humor. "Nothing a few good nights' sleep won't fix. How's Nairobi?"

"Quiet, compared to Iceland."

The smile goes from vague to full-blown, and Riley feels a load lighten off her chest for the first time in days. But then Wolfgang- who doesn't appear all that impressed by Capheus' easy nature- asks, harshly, "What the hell do you mean _soon?"_

Quite suddenly, Capheus looks trapped.

Nomi reaches out, as if to speak, but Sun catches her hand and pulls her back at the last moment, warning Lito with her eyes to _try it, and see how much it will hurt._

She glances over at Riley, and they exchange self-satisfied smiles.

They can approach this a number of ways- but, in the end, Wolfgang's an idiot and this is one good way of showing him that.

"…I found out?" Capheus tries.

In the meantime, Capheus is a good sacrificial lamb.

"Cut the other one," Wolfgang growls, standing to his full height. Riley can't stop her twitching lips now, not if she tried.

"I spoke to Kala," he confesses, shoulders drooping slightly. "She told me that the drugs he's taking aren't dangerous in mild quantities, but any more and you'll have to deal with overdose as well as addiction."

The stinging scent of peppermint curls over them all suddenly; Wolfgang throws Capheus a scowl darker than the rocks that ring waterfall-pools in Iceland and disappears. Lito breaks the awkward silence with a chuckle, and claps Capheus on the shoulder.

"Good man," he booms, "he'll go after her now."

Nomi's lips twist. "Somebody should make sure he isn't jumping on the nearest plane to India, you know."

Which is… a good point.

"He likes me?" Lito mutters, with a shrug. "I guess it's been good knowing you. _Hasta luego, mis amigos!"_

He, too, fades.

Capheus nods at Will. "Talk to Kala. Lito'll keep Wolf occupied for some time. She's a little angry, I think, but she knows this stuff."

"Wolf?" Nomi asks, amused.

He grins diffidently. "He's angry enough for it."

She smiles back, and then turns to Riley. "Amanita and I are heading south. Mexico's seeming better every day, yeah? I won't be visiting for some time."

Riley nods silently, still running a hand through Will's hair. She doesn't bother to say bye- they'll see each other soon enough, and there's really no point. Instead, to Capheus, she says, "Get Kala, could you?"

Sun, still standing tall and stiff in the back of the ship, steps forward as both Capheus and Nomi disappear. Her hands fold around the bow of the ship- she leans forward and inhales sharply at the salt-spray.

"I am afraid," she says slowly, turning to Riley.

Riley curls a hand around Will's face, hunches into herself, and remembers a small girl who killed her mother. She'd always wanted a mother, she thinks, when she fell asleep in the night- someone to put an arm around her and comfort her.

She'd make a poor mother as well, she thinks, softer this time, but none of them really have much of anything, and they can make do with substitutes.

"Do… do you want to come here?" She asks softly. "I always thought the night wasn't so dark if faced together."

Painfully slowly, Sun moves, and though she doesn't hug Riley, she is sitting close enough to put her hand on her knee. The touch appears cathartic in more ways than one; Sun's shoulders slump, and her head cants backward, arching against the light like a bow strung tight.

Riley pulls Will a little closer to herself, shifts slightly so her hand pools in the hollow of Sun's knee, and closes her eyes.

She feels _peaceful._

* * *

 **I wrote this story as a predicted second season. It should be a proper mix of romance and action- quite similar to the series itself, in fact. Each chapter will be in the POV of a different character; next one will be Kala. Updates will probably be once a week.**

 **Reviews inspire me!**

 **-Dialux**


	2. Kala: July 7

**Kala; July 7**

* * *

Kala is angry.

Fine. She isn't just angry, she's hurt, and confused, and a little betrayed. It is three-fold, this emotion: first, Wolfgang has no right to tell her who to marry. That is a decision that is hers alone. Secondly, there is the bone-deep despair that he holds inside of him, along with the blazing fury; it is terrifying, the depth of his emotions, and she doesn't quite know if she can temper that or accept it. Finally, there is his self-loathing.

And, of the three emotions, it is the third that she cannot control.

What is that saying?

You can never change others, only yourself.

She is well-versed with the repercussions of a break up; no matter what, it is the woman on whom the brunt of the blame is placed. If nothing else, she cannot handle people this close to her soul rebuffing her.

It was only Capheus who came to her, after Wolfgang's massacre-

 _what an ugly word to call it, but what other word was there that did it justice, this man who killed his father and uncle and himself, too, in the ugly, ugly end_

-and it was with him that she spoke. If the others thought her to blame, fine; she would take it but never welcome it. She wasn't a masochist.

She'd still called off the wedding, though. Rajan deserved a wife who would love him, and she wasn't it.

And so, she sits on the warm veranda on her house roof, and fights not to cry. Her hands feel ghost-weight across her palms; the sweet peppermint-blood scent of Wolgang's home is still haunting her. The mugginess of a Mumbai night is contrasted by the briskness of a North morning sea, and the low heat of a California midnight.

"Riley needs to talk to you."

She flinches, startled out of her thoughts. But, when she speaks, her voice is steadier than she'd expected.

"Why?"

Capheus smiles, teeth glittering in his dark face. "You know why."

"I don't-" she pauses, hands twisting around each other like pale doves. "Riley needs me?"

He nods.

She takes a deep breath, and steps onto a small boat, and into the sunshine.

"Riley?" Kala asks, and she almost hates to break the scene in front of her- Sun looks happier than she's ever appeared before. "You wanted to talk to me?"

Sun sends her an unreadable look, and before she can react, she's gone- in and out in a flash. Riley lifts her head, draped against the wood of the boat, slowly- she smiles when she sees Kala.

"Yeah. How are you?" Her hands weave around the blanket, gathering the wool and cloth close to her arms, taking care not to disturb Will.

Kala sighs. It's slightly awkward, this meeting- they're strangers and not; it is a maelstrom of worry and emotion that she's never experienced before- never dreamed of experiencing.

And then there's the fact that she saved this woman's life yesterday, without a second thought.

"I'm… good. Quite relaxed, actually." The planks under her feet are rough, without her shoes. "Nothing like what happened with you two yesterday."

Riley smiles- her face lights up, like she's a child, when she smiles. The delicate bones of her wrist look almost hollow in the golden light surrounding them.

"I meant to thank you," she says quietly. "We wouldn't have made it out if you hadn't woken me up."

"None of us would have survived if you hadn't been strong," Kala replies, braving a step closer. To another person, she might have kept her silence, but she knows what Riley fears, and trying to mitigate those are easy enough to address. "All of us. Eight of us, Riley, against the world- we can. Sun and Nomi and Lito and Capheus and- and Wolfgang- and me. We _can._ "

Riley bites her lip. It is obvious, at least to those who know each other's souls, that she will not argue, not here and now now. There are more important things than feelings and predictions, especially in a world desperate to kill them. "Is there something wrong with the medication?"

"No, not really." Moving closer, she braces a hand against the stern, leans her head back and inhales the sharp scent of morning ocean and salt. "It's just that most medication found in ambulances are addictive, after some time. They're meant for short durations, not long. So… it's been, what?"

"Seventeen hours," Riley says.

She nods. "Let him wake up, now. Naturally. Try to find out a better way of keeping him unconscious."

"How?"

Her shoulders lift, helplessly. "I can't… Wait. Would someone know how to knock him out- naturally?"

Riley's eyes are, quite suddenly, crafty. "Wolfgang would."

"I can't-"

"Yes," she says, and there's a smile tucked away somewhere that's smug and infuriating and she can't-

 _breathe, Kala._

-"You can."

Her eyes land on Will. Redirection and artifice; better tools than hammers and diplomacy any day. "He told me he would protect me, you know."

Riley arches an eyebrow. "Did he?"

"Not in so many words." But he had, and that was… kinder, than she'd come to expect from strangers. She laughs, short and sharp. "But the meaning was the same. Riley-" so much pain, from them all. "We will protect him. And you. We _will_."

The how didn't matter so much as the desire.

"Whispers has so much," Riley says softly, and for a brief moment her fear shines through.

Kala steps closer, close enough to wrap her arms around Riley. They're both boney and Riley's a little worn-thin, like so much washed cloth, but she's also warm. "And we have enough. Which is why you need to stay in hiding for some time. Do you have a place in Norway?"

Riley swallows hard. "Yeah. It's… yeah. I do."

"Good. But don't go there," she says. "It's dangerous. If Whispers has enough sway, he can probably see what you have. If he knows enough, he can-"

"-come after us," Riley finishes, cheeks draining of color.

"Exactly. So… go to Norway. But don't stay there. Find a home for yourself in a small town, maybe in Germany, and we'll figure something out. I can… I'm trying to understand how Whispers can see into people's minds. I don't understand." Her hands tighten, reflexively, into fists.

"Have you always understood everything?"

Kala smiles a little lopsidedly. "No. But I do understand the body. There's a purpose behind everything, that's what I've been taught. I can't understand why I can feel you, and I don't…" she breathes, feels two scents whistling around her- Mumbai pollution and Iceland sea- and thinks she might just be going mad. "I want to understand. And… I'm going to find out how. And we will stop him, Riley. We will."

There's a small shift under them, like a rug being pulled out from under their feet- unconsciousness to wakefulness. Kala feels her face soften, and she pulls back.

"I'll talk to Wolfgang," she says gently.

Riley nods; pulls a hand around Will and brackets his face. The way she looks just then is delicate and beautiful: a swan, in the moment between flight and landing.

Kala spins around, closes her eyes, and appears in Berlin. The scent of peppermint is gone, now, replaced with something a little more elusive and slightly duller; rosemary, perhaps?

A step forward reveals the source, then- black licorice, carefully cultivated bushes interspersed with lavender in a small plot. The air is cold surrounding Kala, like not-rain on her skin, or the fear-that-is-not-her-own.

 _Unakī hai, jō ki ḍara._

Another's, that fear. Not her own. But this apprehension twisting in her gut is all hers, built by this man who is so very different from her-

 _I love you, iloveyouiloveyouiloveyou dontleaveme skin rain bullets NO please, please, don't run icantdothis goingmad RUN_

-Wolfgang is visible across the garden. She skirts the edges of the plot, wishing she'd worn her shoes. It's an inane thing, but Berlin is unseasonably warm, and the concrete tiles under her feet are a little too hot.

She would like to be welcomed with open arms and a declaration of love, but he isn't that kind of a man. Kala keeps her eyes on him, though, deliberately not paying attention to Lito who is grinning widely at both of them.

Wolfgang just keeps talking. "-he can't! If he did, to you, wouldn't you be angry? I mean-"

"Hello, Wolfgang."

He goes rigid. Lito flashes out of sight when he sees Wolfgang's face, but Kala can feel the fury that he had pushed away before. It's raw and protective and pulsing, a live thing that she can taste in the back of her throat.

It tastes of blood.

Then he's whirling around, and everything else just disappears in the face of Wolfgang.

"What are you doing here?"

"Riley wanted to know if you know of a way to ensure a person was unconscious, without drugs." Kala says, as levelly as she can make it. Her eyes meet Wolfgang's with no hint of her usual reserve; it's wasted on these men and women who know her heart so well. "If you do, then we can use that to keep Will unconscious without the risk of addiction and a coma."

He's still stiff, but he answers. Kala will take her successes where she can get them.

"Pinch the nerve in the back of the neck. It should paralyze him, and then you tap him- you know what? I'll do it." Wolfgang averts his eyes. "We need to finalize plans, anyways."

She nods and moves back, liquidly, stepping out of Berlin and into the boat.

Riley smiles wanly at them both, but Will is twitching; he's moved from forcibly medicated unconsciousness to a more natural sleep. Nevertheless, his body is big and heavy, and Riley is slender all over. The two of them are also tucked into a corner of the boat.

A few more wild swings and they won't need to worry about Whispers; there will only be a drowning Riley and dead Will.

Wolfgang's eyes narrow to slits. He then moves forward, sharp and bare- no movement is wasted; no shift is without purpose. Kala forces herself to find the calm place inside of herself and relay that to everyone on the boat. Riley panicking or Wolfgang getting _angry_ isn't going to help anyone at all.

Three pinches and a firm couple of taps to nerve-points on Will's face leave him unconscious once more. Kala winces, slightly, when she sees the gleam in his eye- it's a stark reminder of Wolfgang's brutality. He hasn't hesitated, once, to do what needs to be done.

 _You will never understand my culture, as I will never understand yours._

Damn him and his entrance into her world. Damn him. She would have been happy- if not ecstatic- marrying Rajan. Shutting her eyes to the wider world might not have been what she set out to _do,_ but she'd done it well enough, locking herself into a bubble of societal perfection.

And then Wolfgang leapt in like a knight in naked armor- and Kala became not one person, but eight.

"We can do this multiple times," Kala tells Riley, and slowly sinks against the wooden railing. "But about Norway…"

Riley sighs. "What do you want to do?"

Wolfgang disengages from Will carefully, trying not to disturb him. He is still trying to avoid Kala, but the boat is only so large, and the corner they've shoved themselves into is even smaller. He sits down right across from Kala- their knees brush, slightly.

"You need someone to draw attention from you," Kala says quietly. Her next words are not carefully thought out or even wise; she came up with the idea sometime between licorice plants and tackling Will. But they are the truth, and that glitters as true as gold to goldsmiths. "And Wolfgang should meet up with you- to protect you." She holds up a hand to stop his protests.

"Nairobi needs Capheus right now, especially in view of... _everything_ that's gone on there. Lito's also really, _really_ well-known. He goes missing, people _will_ wonder." She swallows and continues, keeping her voice firm with an effort. "Nomi needs to leave San Francisco, but she also needs to keep her feet on the ground- she needs to keep the Internet away from us. And Sun's a prisoner."

Riley is motionless. Slowly, she asks, "Why are you saying this?"

Kala rolls her shoulders- she's apprehensive about this, for sure, but it's also the right thing to do. Her lips are dry. "You need someone to lay a trail for you, and there's only one person who can do that."

" _You?"_

"Is there anyone else?" She asks.

Riley's eyes are huge in her pale face; she wraps an arm around Will as if to keep herself grounded. "What do you want Will and me to do?"

There are so many things Kala wants Riley to do- one day wouldn't be enough to answer that question. Still, she tries.

"Get to Wolfgang. Stay hidden and low-key. And _never_ let Will know what's going on." She presses her lips together, hard, and then she tilts her head at Wolfgang. "I think… I think, when Whispers _speaks_ to Will, he's basically communicating with him on a basic level- more basic than any we've seen, but I think we've all experienced it?"

Wolfgang snorts and leans back on his hands. Kala's breath catches in the back of her throat for a long moment; his long, clean lines and golden-cast skin makes him look like a deity, poised for languorous movement and blatant sexuality. His purpose is not even hidden, but that arrogance just makes him more appealing.

Riley asks, quietly, "When we 'take over' the other's body?"

"Exactly." She laces an arm across Riley's arm, into the cavity between the base of Will's neck and the warmth of Riley's thigh. The weight of Wolfgang's stare on her back seems to intoxicate her; Kala presses an inch closer than propriety would dictate.

So when he speaks, the roughness of his voice isn't quite a shock. "So what you're saying is that if Will sees something, what Whispers sees is…"

"Colored by Will's perspectives."

Her hands bunch in her skirt before she unwinds herself from Riley and Will. Wolfgang spins away before she can knock him with her knee, and Kala smiles, a little wryly. She nods at the three of them- there are things she needs to do; goodbyes she needs to say.

"I'll see you later," she says quietly, moving away.

One last step and she's back in Mumbai, and the air is hot with monsoon, heavy with the promise of rain. The hint of smoke and pollution in the air catches in her lungs for a brief second- Kala feels a gasp rise in her lungs that she bites back at the last minute, mindful of her mother's appearance.

"Are you okay?" She asks. There's nothing of judgment in her eyes, just pure worry. It's surprisingly refreshing; Kala can remember a time, not a week ago, when she would have expected that concern.

Now, the world under her feet has shifted, and the sky has turned green.

"I realized…" Kala lets her voice trail off, and then she reaches up, pressing a finger against her throat, hard enough to bruise. Her eyes meet her mother's, and though she cannot possible understand, her mother's eyes soften. If she could, she would speak of her worry for Will, maybe even her anger at Wolfgang. But to do so is to court death, so she does the one thing she can do; the one thing that yet remains true to her mother. Kala continues, wishing, almost desperately, for guidance, "I realized that I don't… I _don't_ love Rajan. And he-"

"He was kind," her mother points out, bending down to pick up the washed clothes in her basket, tone unreadable. Her back is to Kala as she pins clothes on the lines, and so she cannot decipher what else her mother might mean.

She can only answer her mother's words: "Yes. He was… he is kind."

"What were you looking for, Kala?" Her mother finally asks, turning around to face her. Her mother had always looked young for her age, but now all she appears is old; worry for her daughter must have carved new lines into her face. "Love? There is no such thing, not in this world. In your books- _yes._ And I knew you were romantic, but not _foolish!"_

"How was that foolish?" Kala asks, stung into anger.

Her mother sighs a little; her shoulders inch down, but when she looks up, her face is set in firm defiance. "You make your love, Kala. You find a man who respects you and you respect as well, and you grow to love him. Rajan would have made you happy in time, see that he wouldn't have. Now he'll go to someone else, someone far less deserving."

"I didn't _love him,"_ Kala replies, back pressed against the stone-carved bench, tight enough to ache. She is furious and hurt and the world is spinning out of control.

"You would have if you'd _tried."_

Maybe it is true, but Kala can remember the liquid desire shooting through her when she met Wolfgang's eyes; she can remember the dizzying sensation in the pit of her stomach whenever he's near her. If that is not love, it is at least lust- and that she can turn to love easier than indifference or _respect._

 _I didn't, and I'm sorry you can't understand that._

It's a bright new world, for them all, and her mother cannot possible comprehend the changing circumstances to Kala's life. Wolfgang might not be the only one deserving of burning the past in favor of the future; it is not so much a choice for Kala to walk away from her mother than it was for Will to head to Iceland. When she speaks, there isn't any remorse- much less _regret-_ painted on her face.

Respect for her elders had been trained into her from a young age, certainly, but not- _not!-_ at this kind of a price- not when she knows the cruelty possible in caring, and the fury inherent in indifference.

"I'm going to London for a few days." She rises, and moves to the door. Her mother is still sputtering in the back, and Kala feels a twinge of regret and remorse that she pushes away.

Her father is still trying to smooth over the feathers of her fiancé's people. He isn't expected home until seven that night, and it's only three in the afternoon.

Two hours later, she's cloistered in a small _auto rickshaw_ with her suitcases, and by the time her father's returned she's on board a flight to Seoul under the name Aria Rai.

Damn the consequences; Kala has the world at her fingertips.

* * *

 **I fell in love with Kala when I first watched Sense8. She seemed to be the perfect amalgam of an Indian woman- my stepmother is Indian, I have _exposure-_ who tries to reconcile the wider, Western world with the traditional one at home. A mixture of religion and science; of hard work and luck. She is strong in the sense that she will not break, or that it will take far more for her to break than for someone such as Sun or Riley. **

**" _A sapling bends to the greatest whim, but does not break for anyone."_ Kala is strong in her own way, but when pushed- and, remember, her expectations are colored by her society's beliefs- she is capable of immense anger as well. I can't imagine that she would have taken Wolfgang's words very calmly, or that she would give up on the relationship easily either. **

**Anyways. Next chapter will be Sun. Action starts there (if you think corporate blackmail is action...).**

 **Reviews inspire me (along with all those who put me on your alerts list)!**

 **-Dialux**


	3. Sun: July 10

**Before my readers go on to this chapter, I'd like to warn y'all about my ideas about Sun. Some might think of her as OOC, and I've portrayed her in previous chapters as better-adjusted, but if one takes a good, long look at _canon..._ it tells a very different story. So, all will be explained in a few chapters, but Sun is probably a little more broken here than expected. See the AN below (it gives my reasons, but you don't need to read it for it to make sense) for more information.**

* * *

 **Sun; July 10**

* * *

Sun's eyes are dark, but they haven't been all her life. When she was born, her mother used to tell her, her eyes were the shade of a fall-ripened leaf; unmistakably golden.

There's a metaphor buried somewhere in that tale- her eyes darkened only after her mother's death, after all. But the contrast, today, between her eyes and her prison-lightened skin just makes her look pale. It is useful, Sun knows, to look as she does, a delicate flower struggling to survive among choking weeds.

Never mind that she is in prison- no, that doesn't matter. Her current location notwithstanding, she is trying to play it off as a fluke, as a conspiracy enacted between father and son; she is just the too-trusting, easily-betrayed daughter, too naïve to know the truth of the world.

It is a timeless tale, and the prison guard- female, weary of cynicism and so very _gullible_ for it- laps it up.

Sun takes care to hide her smirks and her laughter. She pulls support from those who never thought of offering her help, and challenges the prison-ground bullies with a bravado that would be far more amusing if it weren't so _normal._

And here, and now, the Indian girl stands, arms folded and eyes blazing. "I'm on the flight from Mumbai," she says flatly, all but bristling.

 _Someone is channeling their idiot boyfriend._

But Sun has spent too long annoying her brother not to know the perks to irritating people. Pushing people to the edge and then watching their reactions is both amusing and dangerous, a game of words as simplistic and complex as the world itself.

"Is there a reason to that?" She asks innocently.

The girl- yes, her name is Kala, but Sun doesn't really care enough to use something so _plebian_ as a name- stiffens, but she answers. "I'm trying to break you out of jail."

"Don't let anyone else hear you on the plane," Sun says wryly, stretching out in her small cell as best she can. Balanced lightly on her wrists, she says, "They might think you're a terrorist."

"It isn't a joke!" She snaps.

Sun lets the smile at the corner of her lips widen into a smirk. "Wasn't it?"

"I'm trying to _help you,"_ the girl says tightly. "If you want to stay behind bars-"

"Fine." She stands; rolls her shoulders. The time for levity is over. "But what I _want_ is to see my brother dead." Sun watches the girl closely, waiting for the minute flinch that is bound to accompany her ferocity. "If I get out of jail is secondary."

The girl hesitates for a long, long moment. And then she straightens, and her eyes hold a martial gleam not unlike Sun's mother's, right before she told her father _enough, and stand down you utter fool of a man! Sun- go inside. Your father and I need to have a_ talk.

And she says, softly, "We can put him in jail. Is that satisfactory?"

Sun struggles, for a moment, with her base nature- the one screaming _no, make him bleed every last drop-_ and then her practical side raises its head. Three of the eight have already been caught, and another lives in the spotlight. Wolfgang needs to protect Riley and Will; Capheus, annoying though he may be, has people who need him, in Nairobi.

Kala and herself are the two that are the ones without the spotlight, without the gleam of the world or Whispers focused on them.

Sun is also in prison.

"Yes," she says bluntly. "But _how?"_

The corporate world and its subtle machinations have never clicked with Sun, at the most basic level. Locker room drama she is familiar with; when two words can erase millions of dollars is where she doesn't- cannot- succeed.

Kala- and when did she start to use her _name,_ of all things?- smiles. "Listen carefully…"

* * *

The prison guard- her name is Hinata- enters the room, and Sun takes care to shrink into herself, letting her arms flutter against the ragged metal edge of her cot. A breath to steel herself, and then she slices her palm across; the gash will fade, in time, and the pain is not so much more than what she is used to, but the blood dripping down looks gruesome enough.

Perfectly timed, too.

A gasped, almost-stifled whimper bubbles across her lips, even as she reveals the slice. Hinata flinches, moves forward into the light, but takes Sun's hand in a gentle grip.

Suddenly, all she can remember is her mother, sitting on a sun-warmed porch, bandaging her bruised knuckles. The thin, tapered fingers are the same- the sure grasp holds her with the exact calm of a professional.

"Please," Sun whispers, but the pleading in her words are far too genuine for her comfort.

Hinata's eyes soften, minutely, in the dimness of solitary confinement, and she prods her up- they walk to the infirmary and she remains by Sun's side as her hand is bandaged.

Twenty years, Sun thinks, not quite bitterly, and she has not forgiven herself for her mother's death. It had been quick enough; a mercy, really, when she died in a car crash- the car spun on black ice, slid down a hill, and came to a juddering halt. Investigators said it was the spin that snapped her neck, and that had been painless. But her mother had been the only one to shield her from her father's excesses and his disapproval, to look beyond the façade of simplicity Sun tended- still tends, actually- to put up to the vulnerable being under. She had trained herself, afterwards, to turn her flesh into a weapon, as ruthless as she could make it. Her father had encouraged it.

Twenty years, and the kindness of women still startles her.

Then, Lito is there. He is a large man, but his aura takes up far more presence than his actual physical body. His warmth, wrapped around muscles, lends her some semblance of strength; enough, at least, to make her lips tremble and face pale.

 _Step back,_ he tells her gently, and Sun wants to scream. Kindness is useless, and his gentleness is not helpful. She can do this, all she needs to see is her father's bloodied body and dagger, all she needs is to remember her brother's smugness and-

 _Sun._ Lito's arm reaches out, as if to touch her, but drops away when she tenses sharply. She doesn't look up, but she can imagine well enough: his eyes will be warm, his lips curved into a soft smile, and all he will want is to help her. She wants to throw up. _Please,_ he murmurs again, _step back._

Against all her better knowledge, she does.

"I can't- I can't _do this_ anymore!" A voice wails out, and it takes her a moment to recognize it to be herself.

Hinata whirls around, hand going to the baton at her waist, and then she relaxes. Concern outstrips the relief quickly.

"Do what?" She asks, moving a step closer.

Sun feels the muscles in her jaw twitch, briefly, before Lito says, in her skin, "Let myself hide."

"Hide?"

"The-" Lito swings her face away, abruptly, and she can't quite stop the gasp of pain. He continues, though, inexorable. "The truth… the- I loved my father," he says, in Sun's voice, and she feels a spurt of blazing hatred washing over her. How dare he! "And I love my brother." Calculated despair flashes across her features; the truth of that emotion stings something inside of her, something she'd thought long dead. "But I cannot stand by while he wrecks us all."

Hinata's hands clench for a moment, then nothing. "Are you saying-"

"I love them," Lito says, voice heavy. Sun bites back recriminations and helpless fury. "But my brother… he killed him, he did! I can…" her voice trails off, artfully soft. When she looks up, all that is there in her eyes is pain. "I can prove it."

"You can?" Her eyes widen, something almost like _desire_ flashing through them. Lito grins at Sun, inwardly, and says, in the privacy of their mind, _See? It is not so hard._

 _Let me show you the flat of a blade,_ Sun replies, _and then you can see what_ hard _is._

"Yes." He steps back, and Sun flows back into her body. Her next words are slightly stilted, off-balance. She is tired and angry and a thousand other emotions she cannot control; Sun feels more exhausted, though, than anything.

"I have evidence that my brother committed a felony," she says quietly, reaching for that place inside her that is always calm. The quiet there stabilizes her, at least a little. "He embezzled funds from Bak Industries, for almost seven years, before my father caught him."

This is finally the truth, and that knowledge chills her hands until she feels dead inside. Begging does not come easily to her; it is, in fact, a patent point of pride for her not to beg.

 _Damn him. Family pride… my own pride. Where is the line?_

She meets Hinata's gaze with deliberate calm. "They wanted me to take the fall, and I did. To save him. But then I found out he killed my father… Please, Hinata-" _breathe, you fool of a chit! Breathe!_ "-I need your help."

Kala is tucked into a small hotel in the southern part of Seoul; the city is by-far the largest in the country, and the only place for her to remain without raising questions. Anyhow, Sun is in the east. It is a short distance to drive- not quite twenty minutes- but the multitudes of people between them drown out the gap.

This is now their life, curling into the creases and hollows of the world, depending on strangers for mercy and manipulating family into forgetting them.

She has not forgotten Kala's silent screaming, as she walked away from her mother.

Remembering this- that she has a person outside helping her, waiting for her- gives her the confidence to deliver the last sentence with remarkable aplomb.

"There's a hollow stone in the middle of the Imperial Gardens. Right opposite the inscription for _dal._ You'll see papers there, enough to convict."

For all her romantic nature, though, Hinata is not a _fool._ She frowns, and says in a voice that is not quite skeptical, "You're saying you took the fall, and then your brother killed your father? _Why?_ "

 _Because my father wouldn't give him power, and the fool decided to take it._

 _Because I am the worst kind of idiot, that I believed him when he knelt in front of me and begged._

 _Because my brother is more ruthless than my father or I ever achieved._

"Because he'll come for me, too," she answers, softer than a poison's drip. "And my father wanted to tell everyone- but before he could, he died. His last words to me were _I will save you._ Please," Sun says again. "I _need_ to see him pay for his crimes."

And, because she can feel Kala's eyes on the nape of her neck, she adds, "What harm is it, to see? At worst, I am lying, and you will know me to be a liar. At best-"

"-you are telling the truth."

Hinata's face is pale, but excited. She nods, once, sharply. Then she moves away, striding out of the door.

The medical wing is quiet, now; Sun wraps an arm around her chilled body and hunches in on herself. She waits, silently, for Kala.

The girl appears in a slow shimmer, as if in a heat wave. Her dark hair is cut short and gelled, and she looks thinner than before- paler, too. Sun speaks, before she has a chance to:

"It's done. She'll be going soon. Get the packages ready."

Kala nods, but hesitates. Sun knows what she wants, but is not willing to give it. She might share a soul, now, but her mind is still her own, and she has fought too long for her privacy to give it up easily. The girl can find her gossip elsewhere.

The darkness ringing her eyes inches closer; Sun curls into it, beckons it forward. Admitting fear is not a weakness, not truly, she reminds herself. Fear is not weak- _emotion_ is. Fear is a primal thing, but love is not, and neither is hate.

All Sun wants is to scream, but she cannot let go of the last vestiges of control just yet.

" _Go_ ," She tells Kala, and when she doesn't move, her rage spirals higher.

Sun lifts her head, locks gazes. The malevolence in them finally- _finally-_ prods the girl into motion. Hopefully, she has learned something: that Sun will not bend to the will of others, no matter the price.

"That was cruel," Lito says, behind her.

"Why?" Sun asks, though she doesn't turn around. "Because I did not temper my tongue? Because I didn't silence my anger?" Her voice sounds strange to her own ears. "I am no _pet,_ and you are not innocents!"

"It isn't Kala that you're angry at."

She tenses. "You don't know me."

"Don't I?" His tone is gentle, but the words are painful.

Sun whirls around; lets the last vestiges of warmth flood away from her eyes and skin. Lito might have lied on her behalf, but she doesn't have any illusions. He lied to save the eight of them when she could not bear to- not to spare her the pain.

Now, she is the huntress she was trained as, cold and confident.

"I am angry at us all," she says icily. "But most of all at my brother. I _will_ see him dead or worse before I leave."

"Then," Lito asks, "why do you hesitate?"

Everything stops, motionless for a brief second. Sun knows her arms tremble against the weight of truth, but she cannot hold that burden just yet. Let dawn come, and with light she can shoulder it, but in the darkness all she wants is to _fall apart_ and dammit- she can't, not if there is another person there. That is a luxury and a weakness she cannot allow herself.

But words spill out of her nonetheless, spigots of water past an overflowing dam. She is too weak, and that knowledge rankles.

"Father loved him," she says, and three decades worth of bitterness spew out, the blade dulled from constant wear but no less deadly. " _Namdongsaeng,"_ she adds, and tears fill her eyes, a sort of remembrance and penance, mixed together. Softer, she says, "That's what I called him."

 _Little brother._

She'd loved him when he was born, and he took that love and whittled it away to the bare bone; until there was nothing left but exhaustion and bitterness.

There's nothing more to be said, nothing more that can be. Lito has seen her darkest shadow, but he hasn't flinched, not yet.

 _(She wonders what will make him.)_

He moves forward, slowly- and she feels some chain in her heart drop away, a line erased. When his big- warm, large, _engulfing-_ hands cup her cheek, she grants him a gift, one for his kindness- a memory.

She is sitting on her house roof, age ten, and the snow is falling around her. Her mother has died hours before, her father is locked away in his room, and she can hear his howls; her brother crawls up beside her later, when the ice has crusted over her lashes and she is having trouble blinking. He wraps her in a warm blanket- she curls into the offered comfort with a quiet sigh.

And he whispers, softer than the melting snow, "This is your fault."

Some warm part of Sun, a portion of her soul that she hasn't remembered in forever, froze over that night. She wonders how much else she will lose, how much more her brother can take, before she can stop him.

The warmth of Lito's hand has chilled, slowly, from contact with her skin. His lips are white against his tanned skin.

"You loved your mother," he says, quiet.

Sun can only nod to that- how else is one supposed to respond, when the basis of one's life is spelled out in such bare, simple language? She wraps an arm around herself, and for a single breath, she allows herself to imagine:

A beautiful woman, laugh-lines curving into her hair and determination ringing her jaw- she is lovely, in the form of a person who has led a long, kind life. A brother who offers her a smile, his dark eyes filled with nothing but love… her father, alive once more.

Sun smiles, slow and beautiful, in her dreams, and she looks like her mother reborn. Then the golden image shatters around her, and she is left with nothing but cold metal and empty rage.

 _"Seondeok,"_ she says, with accent, dredging up the last bits of emotion left in her. Her eyes meet Lito's- a full night of tears, but none of them have yet fallen. "My mother's name." Her eyes drift shut, half-remembered phrases and stories coming together, a tale sweet as few memories have been, in her life. "She was named after _Sondok,_ Princess of the moon and stars. She was the first Empress of Korea, and turned her kingdom into a home for art. She built the oldest observatory in East Asia, and…"

 _My mother worshipped her._

Empresses, Sun thinks now, are useless, as useless as the old lady was to her husband, in _Gonghuin._

 _Enough._

"Please," she whispers, scrubbing a hand across her eyes. She doesn't look up. " _Go."_

There's silence for a long moment, and then she does lift her head, and there's nothing around her except for the white-washed walls of the infirmary and the moonless dark of the night sky.

She pillows her head in her arms, and lets the last, broken pieces- held together by pure, bone-headed will- fly apart. Nobody hears her cry, but she can't make herself stop.

* * *

Her brother visits her the next day, and Sun feels better. She is still raw, her scars lying open, but she doesn't feel as hopeless. Capheus and Kala wait outside, with her, before she is admitted into the room, but all it takes is a cutting glance to shake them off as she heads inside.

This is her demon, and she will face him alone.

"Brother," she greets, in English. Her clothes are the sea-foam green as always- prison fashion is in the hair and skin, not monotonous clothes- but the substance doesn't truly matter; it is the way she carries it off. Her back is straight and stiff, now, her arms relaxed. She looks calm.

"How did you send this to me?" He asks her roughly, holding up the note Kala delivered hours before, to his residence.

In careful calligraphy, she has printed out: _Speak to the one who holds your blood in their veins. Beg supplication, and you might be spared our Wrath._

Sun smiles sharply. He will not recognize the smile; it was, once upon a time, reserved for those she truly despised. It is still reserved for them- that has not changed- it is just that now, her brother is one of them.

"I am fine, and I do believe it should not rain tomorrow," she says glibly.

His hands clench. " _How?"_

For a moment- no more, she doesn't want to _kill him,_ not really- she lets her mask slip. For a moment, she shows him every inch of her rage and hate, and then the walls slide back into place. Her eyes remain, intent, on his person. "Does it matter?"

"I didn't kill our father!" He hisses.

"No," Sun says coldly. "You did not have even that _strength._ You hired another, and made it look like a suicide. But if I can't get you for that, there _is_ something else." She pauses, marshals her thoughts. She'd wanted to end him, but sometimes it felt better to offer them a way out, to see the true character of a man. So, she says, "listen to me, _namdongsaeng._ Leave- Sudogwon will become very uncomfort-"

He stands, the metal legs of the chair screeching against the floor. She cuts herself off, staring at him, and he sneers at her. "You think I would kill him? I am not _dongsaeng,_ I have no _nuna!"_

 _Enough._

She stiffens a little more, and then smiles. "Then do not listen, _brother."_

For the first time in so very long, it is she who walks away from her brother, not the other way around. And it is not rage that she feels, nor accomplishment, nor even peace.

She feels nothing at all, as she lets go of her past.

 _Have you planted it?_ She asks Kala.

As if made of stardust, the girl appears beside her. _Yes._

 _Then it is time._ She stares out, unseeing, as she ends her brother's life; it is now only a matter of time before the trap is sprung. Two weeks, maximum, and then she will be outside, and he will be behind bars. _Do it._

 _Are you-_

Sun twitches an arm, the movement slight enough that none of the guards notice. It is enough to warn Kala, though.

 _Touch me again, and I will have your head,_ she tells the girl harshly.

She steps into her cell, head held high.

* * *

 **When the season ended, we were left with each of the eight in different mental/emotional states. Capheus, Will, Lito and Nomi were all in- relatively- good places, while Kala was on a downward spiral with Wolfgang to meet her at rock bottom. Riley was getting better, especially for facing her demons, but Sun was a... mystery, wrapped in an enigma, soaked in confusion.**

 **She was angry and grief-stricken, but how exactly is she supposed to mourn the death of someone who never truly loved her? I took a _lot_ of creative license with this character, mainly because I felt I _could._ Nomi has already defined herself in a fashion, but Sun is still trying to find herself past her rage. And, believe me, I'm having _fun_ writing Nomi. (Being transgender is a huge deal, not saying it isn't, but I also know how easy it is to define oneself by these labels. "Transgender," or "street-fighter," or "Indian woman." Look past that and you'll see the actual _people,_ beyond the conflicts they're dealing with, and I felt the season didn't touch on that at all. One of my few complaints.**

 **So, I started writing Sun a couple weeks ago, just as an exercise in exploring someone who was a mixture of angry, sad, and broken- right after I watched the series, in fact. And it took me almost five completely different versions before I was even close to happy, and I'm still not with this one. She's arrogant but hurt, and that is something that works, but is really hard to write… I wanted kick-ass scenes, people. I** ** _have_** **kick-ass scenes, written, already.**

 **But Sun doesn't want to be** ** _in them!_**

 **So this might appear OOC to some of you, but this was what I felt was most in character. Sorry if it doesn't work.**

 ** _Dal_** **is Korean for moon.** ** _Gonghuin_** **is one of the earliest examples of Korean poetry. Good example is on Wikipedia, under Yui Ok, the author's name.**

 **Reviews inspire me, and y'all are awesome! (I promise, I'll answer all of your questions next chapter. This one got hijacked by a monstrous AN)**

 **-Dialux**


	4. Will: July 15

_Where… am I?_

Words are strange, sticking to his palate like gum. He floats, in an endless surge of blackness. There is nothing- absolutely _nothing-_ surrounding him, but it feels almost like a betrayal than relief. Even emotion is dulled, here.

 _Who… am I?_

A bright spurt of _something_ that he reaches for, instinctively.

The steel bars encasing his mind crumble as knowledge washes into his mind. Something in the blackness snaps, like so much thin wood.

 _And God said,_ Let there be Light: _and there was Light._

The words are old, he thinks; a part of himself long-forgotten but not quite let go. Images of smooth wooden banisters and lit candles and lilting words accompany the phrase.

Muscles taut around his eyes flicker, an alien feeling of pain, then… brightness. His eyes open, to a blue sky and rough wooden slats.

And a young woman, slight and pale, back to him, hair bleeding black strands against the died-white. She is speaking rapid-fire _something-_ he thinks maybe German- to another man, who's scowling hard enough to look at home in a funeral.

The man's eyes shift; skitter over him, and there's nothing but blood and silence and aching, raw _fury,_ for a moment; _the man's_ rage, not his own. They are standing in a cold room, and there is death hanging in the air, and all he wants is to save the man, so he warns him:

 _I know Kevlar._

Spots of darkness explode against his eyelids, and he can hear someone barking something roughly, another shouting, another screaming. Then cold hands wrap around his face, and the pain gives way, softening to knowledge.

"You are Will Gorski," the voice- it must belong to the owner of the cold hands- chants, with the practiced air of someone who has done this many times. "Officer of the CPD. You saved me in Iceland. We were on a boat. You drugged yourself. You are Will Gorski."

And on, and on, and on.

Will- that must be his name, and now that he thinks about it, there are shining strands of gold woven among his memories that glimmer brighter when he says _Will-_ muses over these thoughts, letting them fall where they will. More recent memories seem slightly hazy, as if in a dream, but they are also undeniably real. He sinks against the warmth of the person's body, and _waits._

"Where… _am I?"_

There's a pause, and when she speaks, her voice is ragged with some sort of emotion. "I can't tell you that." There's a longer moment of silence, then: "Do you know who I am?"

He can put a face to the voice easily enough- delicate bones framing a small face, bleached hair tumbling over twilight-gold eyes.

But he cannot think of a name.

"I don't-" Panic ripples through him, and Will tries not to scream.

"Shhh," she says, carding a hand through his hair. It is soft and reassuring, kind in ways he'd never imagined. "I know it hurts. Don't worry, Will. _Ekki hafa áhyggjur, ást mína,_ don't worry. Lay back- no, don't open your eyes, rest. _Minni-_ memory, _elskan-_ it will come back. As will your strength. Sleep, _elskan._ I will be here when you awaken." He sinks back into the darkness.

* * *

He wakes up again, later, and now he remembers the past awakenings. The sun is hidden behind a flimsy layer of clouds, as if it, too, needs some covering for the moment. There are large oak trees surrounding the window, green leaves just barely brushing the glass of the window. Inside, it is simple enough, the room, if rich; dark wooden floors and tasteful decorations ring the stone-heavy walls. There is a desk, pushed up against another window, and a settee in front of a fireplace. The door is carved wood, but shut, and when he tries to open it it doesn't budge. The slight hints of panic soon surge to an all-time high. Then, between the thunder of his heart and fear, he hears a feminine voice, shouting something in his ear. They are harsh words, he thinks, the truth, but they are unadorned, as well. He doesn't need to worry about the _facts,_ for he has them here. He doesn't think about _why_ he trusts her.

Then, between the thunder of his heart and fear, he hears a feminine voice, shouting something in his ear. They are harsh words, he thinks, the truth, but they are unadorned, as well. He doesn't need to worry about the _facts,_ for he has them here. "Will Gorski," she barks, and finally he can _hear her._

The darkness surrounding him- it rankles, a little, his weakness- slowly fades, but before he can physically turn to see who has helped him, the woman fades away.

Will panics again, then remembers what she told him: put his head between his knees, and breathe slow and easy; _focus,_ she'd said, _and do it with me,_ goyangi, _in through the nose, out through the mouth. Breathe._

He does, and slowly the scents of peppermint and summer manage to soothe him, at least until he remembers that the woman disappeared through thin air, and he can't trust even his senses. He does as told, though, trusts his instincts if not his sight, and wraps an arm around the back of his neck, curls into himself, and struggles through the worst of the panic attack before anyone else arrives.

This time, it is the woman from before, the one with cold hands and beautiful face. The door heaves open, and she rushes in, cheeks flushed.

"Are you okay?" She asks, but it doesn't come out in English. The rough cadence of something Germanic flows past her lips, and Will doesn't know how he can understand, but he can, and dammit he can't _breathe-_

"Will," she says, and it's just the one word but it manages to calm him down. " _Elskan,"_ she adds, a little sharply. "You need to breathe. The… others are downstairs, and I need to be with them, but you… just breathe, _elskan._ I will be with you in a moment."

She leaves, and Will closes his eyes, just for a moment.

When he opens them, she is back. Her hands skate over his, softly. "Do you remember me?" She asks.

"I thought…" he coughs, feeling his mouth dry for a moment. "I thought you were a dream."

"A dream?" Someone asks from the door- a familiar voice. Will looks up, and the German man is leaning there, smiling wryly. "Or a nightmare?"

" _Wolfgang!"_ The woman leans back on her heels, glares up at him. "You can't-"

A string of noises fall from his lips, then, and the woman's eyes- if anything- harden. Wolfgang detaches himself from the doorway and the two meet halfway; they are arguing, Will thinks, almost wearily.

Except they are arguing over _him._

Or so he suspects, because he can't understand a word of what they say. Something inside of him bends- just a touch past comfortable.

Wolfgang's lips thin, before he whirls away; Will suspects he goes down the stairs. The woman leans away and presses the heels of her hand to her eyes, as if rubbing away tears.

But when she looks up, they're dry.

"What do you remember?" She asks, voice a hint too flat for his comfort.

He pauses and dredges up memory. "…a man, with white hair? And a beard? I think there were… mountains, too. Snow, but it wasn't cold, and I was scared, and-"

"Yes," she says, cutting him off. "You do remember, then."

"Not really." He grimaces, tries to put the feelings into words. "They… I _know_ what happened. I can _see it._ But I don't… I don't feel it."

The woman's eyes blow wide, the tawny hue flaring into pure gold. She looks, for a breath, utterly terrified. When she speaks, her voice is barely a whisper. "What did he _do to you?"_

"I don't understand," Will replies. "Who are you? I… I _trust_ you, but I don't know _why._ Why am I here?"

"You couldn't hear us?" She asks, and suddenly all she looks is young and… _lost._ Will flinches, slightly.

"I thought you were speaking German," he says simply, forgoing his anger.

She exhales sharply, and rocks back as if struck. "My name is Riley," she murmurs, letting her arms flutter against the ground. "Riley Gunnarsdottir. I can't… I _was_ speaking German, but-" she cuts herself off suddenly, and frowns at him. "Will," she asks, "are you sure you're alright?"

"I'm terrified," he says slowly. Even now, the panic has a mild hold on him, but that feels _wrong._ He thinks that he's seen much worse in the past, and that has never truly scarred him like what the man with white hair has done to him. The fear and weakness- his breath is coming in shorter lengths, now, and his chest hurts like someone is pressing down on him- gets stronger, but then he feels an arm around him and a finger tracing his eyes.

" _Elskan,"_ she- Riley- says softly, and he can hear, faintly, an echo of something beyond- love, maybe, or adoration?

"It means darling," she tells him, among other things. "I think… we'll talk about it later, not now, but I think we need to go downstairs. See the sky. You always liked it, didn't you?"

He freezes, the panic giving way. "How… how did you know that?"

She looks sad, but rises; Will loops his arm around her shoulders and leans against her. They make a strange sight indeed, the slight woman supporting the muscled man, but it works, for them.

The blue sky does help him, actually. It is so clear- the clouds have been burned away- and lovely, the birds twittering and oaks swaying, that he feels some part of him relax into the present. They make a short circuit around the courtyard, and when they return to the cold interior, Will feels hollow, in a good way, as if he was scratched clean.

Inside, she places him on a long sofa, only this one has no sides; a whisper floats across his mind calling it a _chaise longue._ She returns a few moments later with a tray, piled with food. There's a starchy, mealy food in the middle, along with a light, herbal bean stew on the side. Another cup of orange-looking porridge is tucked into the corner, and tea- he thinks rosemary- is in a filigreed china cup.

"You need your strength," Riley says, though she steals the spoon of the porridge for herself, and perches on the other side of the chaise.

He finishes the meal in silence- the starchy food is a little heavy on the stomach and chewy, and takes some time to get used to it, but the bean stew is rich and the herbs give it flavor without making it heavy. The porridge is actually a pudding, the creamy aspect a little exotic- just a touch different from pumpkin pie.

"It's good," Will says, leaning back. The tea itself is flavorless beyond faint traces of sweetness- he thinks honey.

Riley smiles. "I'll tell- him- you said that. The food's apparently the rich kind, in Africa. He said you'd like it."

Will grins back at her, and lifts the cup to his lips to sip-

 _(no, run, run, leave, black, I can't bre-)_

-pain, the likes of which he's never felt before, floods over him.

Except he _has_ felt it before, once, days ago:

 _The rocking swell of a boat, and he wakes to brilliant stars and Riley next to him. There is pain across his face, an ache across his jaw…_

 _"Where am I?"_

 _She grins at him. "You know I can't tell you that, Will."_

 _Silence. He smiles back at her, through the low ache in his temples, and half-rises, trying to shift his weight and-_

 _-pain, the likes of which he's never felt before._

A low whine ripples out of his throat; his back arches, straining against the ghost-pain skittering across his nerves.

When his eyes open, he is in a metal room- one that he can recognize easily, though he's only ever been on the other side of the table. And his memories are his own, now, the distance between _self_ and _being_ not so defined.

"An interrogation room?" He asks- no, drawls. There might be tension lining his jaw, but this is as much a game as it is a gamble, and Will is learning quickly the price of failure.

Whispers- he remembers the man's name, now- smiles coldly. "It took me some time, to track you down. They're doing a better job than I expected. Tell me- how many days has it been again?"

 _Less than a week,_ Will thinks, but doesn't say aloud. He settles back into the chair.

"You took my memories away," he says instead.

"I wanted to know how you would react," he returns, shifting the balance towards Will again.

He scowls. "And how did I react?"

"You screamed. And begged. I think you asked Gunnarsdottir to save you, but I was bored by then. And then you disappeared. I think I was angriest for that, but you didn't feel it. I must have pushed you too hard."

There's something inside of him that wants to rip Whispers to shreds. His hands flex, slightly, but there's no other manifestation of his rage.

But then again…

"Tell me," Will asks sharply, thinly veiled irritation behind it, "why did you choose me?"

It isn't a real question; he knows the answer already. What he wants is _time,_ to bring his mind to bear, to use his knowledge to end this farce, and there's no better way than to tap Whispers' predilection for monologuing. It's a new experience for him, who's more used to fights of brawn than brain, but it isn't an unpleasant one either.

More memories rush back, and- _Capheus._ That was the man who had made him the food- it had been good, too. He makes a mental note to thank him.

Whispers can read his mind, yes, he can see what Will sees; hear what Will hears.

But Will's mind is still his own.

 _Compromised, not controlled._

There is a difference, and he intends to use that to his advantage.

"-perfect for control, William."

Will feels everything drop away, though, at the next question:

"Are you in Germany, Will?"

The question might as well have come from his own mind- it thrums at the same level, and he can't separate the two. He feels the first hints of panic, but pushes them down with a ruthlessness born and bred in a city cop, instead reaching for information.

How is he supposed to trust himself when he can't see the difference between Whispers' thoughts and his own?

Then, a flash of insight- he doesn't need to know, and that knowledge will only hurt the others. That is how, he thinks; if knowing something can hurt the others, it isn't necessary. What he needs is security, and strength of will.

Good thing his name means _protection,_ then.

"Does it matter," he asks, quietly. "Does it matter where I am, if I would die before you find me?"

Whispers scratches out a line in a notebook. It is angled away from him, but he knows what is written nonetheless:

 _Suicidal_

Will smiles, and it's warm and welcoming. Somewhere far, far away, he can feel a storm growing, as if in a memory- the sky shakes, and everything hangs for a trembling moment, caught between heaven and earth, and then the tableau is broken, and lightning crashes down. The rolling heat of the time before rain is what he smells, now.

"Whispers," he says, and the man looks up. Will wonders when he got the strength to do this, because it wasn't always there, but it is now. He'd bested the man at his own game a week back, and escaped, but he doesn't think he'll ever be able to do that again. Whispers is strong and smart, and rich. He has knowledge, and all Will has is determination.

"You're in my mind," he says, and hears the echo of a woman's scream. "I don't… you're in my _head,_ and you want me to break. Why?"

Whispers stands, and for a moment Will lets himself hope- that he will be alone, that he won't have to worry- but then he surges forward, and his hands slide around his throat.

Will chokes.

And then he goes flying, because Whispers tosses him, and he crashes into the far wall. The breath is knocked out of him, he notes distantly, but he doesn't feel any bruises or breaks.

"Because if _I_ don't," he snarls, and Will shifts, feels the floor beneath him soften at his wish, looks up and sees the man looming over him, "you will be worse. I persecute _you,"_ Whispers hisses, "and you cannot do any worse!"

 _I am sick, of choosing between the lesser of two evils._

But, still: "You think _I'm_ the greater evil?"

Whispers gives him a long, unreadable look, and before Will can say anything, he melts away, leaving him alone, on the cold, hard floor of his mind.

* * *

It takes him some time, to recover. He has to first gather himself, and only then can he escape his mind. When his eyes flutter open to natural sunlight…

Well. He doesn't think he's ever felt as happy as he feels right now.

Riley leans over him, and a muted sort of worry filters over him, like a film of exhaustion. Her eyes tilt upward when they see him shift, though he can't feel anything else from her. His body, too, feels sort-of-pain, from crashing into his mental wall, even if there aren't real bruises on his skin.

"Are you okay?" She asks.

He breathes in, and decides that he really is okay, just a little shaken. "Yeah."

His voice still cracks on the word, though, and he winces inwardly. Apparently his larynx still isn't aware that he really is _fine._

"Really," he says, and struggles upright. "I _am_ fine."

She nods, presses a kiss to his hair, and rises. Only now- he thinks that she looks tired, and he feels a twinge of guilt, somewhere inside of him. He's been so caught up in panic and fear and self-interest, and Riley's paid the price for that in bags under her eyes and the slightly pinched look around her lips.

But before he can apologize, she says, softly, "You need to rest. I'll be downstairs if you need me."

And she's gone, and all Will can do is slump over, boneless. He thinks he might just love this girl- a disjointed voice inside him asks, snidely, whether loving her is like loving himself, and if _that's_ true, is he a narcissist? Whatever the issue, he does like Riley a lot, and while he might have wanted to go a little slower, events forced his hand, and he just… _acted._

Then the door opens, and a slender Sun walks into the room, dressed formally. She is slightly flushed, too, but the excitement fades from her eyes when she sees him, replaced with worry.

"You look like shit," she says, voice a little flat.

He frowns, thinks it over. Vaguely, he remembers hot tea spilling end over end, and there are burns ringing his fingers and wrist to prove that; there might be bruises on his back, a testament to his thrashing against the hard settee.

"I don't feel it?" He offers, and if there's irritation in his voice, he doesn't actually acknowledge it. Time for a topic change: "Why're you here? I thought I couldn't see you?"

Sun sighs. "If Whispers knows what you know, then all eight of us are already made. We need to stand together, not separately."

"And you came to this realization _now?"_

"Would you rather be left alone?" She asks archly.

Will subsides, presses away. The irony is that he _wants_ to be alone, now, for the first time since he woke, and finally they understand.

But if he has someone to bounce ideas off of…

"When I was inside my head," he begins carefully, "Whispers said some things. Interesting things."

"He's a maniac. But…" Sun shrugs, smooth and light. "I suppose my response would depend on what he said, exactly."

Will twitches. "He… _implied,_ that I was the greater of two evils, that we were. And he's the other evil. If we're persecuted, then we can't do any worse, according to him."

"That's… interesting? I guess?"

He shifts backward, and a glint passes over his eyes; Will blinks, hard, and realizes that Sun is insubstantial in this form, translucent light filtering through her body against his own.

"I don't understand," he says plainly. "Whispers is trying to hunt us? I mean- he thinks he's doing it because… _why?_ I-"

Sun flashes him a cold grin. "Think about it, _goyangi._ Knowledge is power, and we have the knowledge of eight people, and if it comes down to it… we can condense that knowledge in a single body. We are eight bodies, but one soul, and that is _dangerous._ If we tried, who knows what we could do?"

And damn everything, but he can _imagine_ it. He can see himself, free of all issues, silencing those who speak out against him, using Nomi to give him credibility, Sun and Wolfgang to silence his opponents, the rest as lieutenants; he'll trust them implicitly because how can he betray himself?

They'll conquer the world, he thinks, and doesn't know to scream or cry or laugh. They'll conquer the world, and the only reason they haven't yet is because they have something more immediate to think about.

"Power corrupts," he whispers.

Sun reaches out, hesitantly. One hand rests, insubstantial against his shoulder. "Will…"

"I wanted it," he says numbly. Sun steps back, and he feels his spine press into his shoulder blades. "I _wanted_ it, Sun! I wanted to rule the world! And… what if he-"

"Shh," Sun murmurs, winding forward, and he can feel a cool hand against his face, more weight than before. "You can't worry about that, not now. And… _yes, goyangi,_ if that was his reason for beginning this, maybe- _maybe-_ I could understand, but not here, not now." She hesitates, and there's something dangerous in her eyes, when he looks at her. "But evil done in the name of good is still evil."

Will grimaces. "I suppose."

She smiles, a little slyly, and he blinks; a moment later and her lips thin, face draining of color.

"I have to go," she says lowly. "But whatever happens, _goyangi,_ remember this: do not walk outside. Remember!"

She disappears, and moments later Lito walks in.

Will watches him closely, notes down the worry in Lito's brown-dark-black eyes, the anger in the pallor of his skin. He asks, sarcastic and cold, "Don't walk outside?"

Lito hesitates. He leans against the lintel and watches Will closely, and it's frustrating, the way he doesn't answer the question but asks one of his own.

But he answers.

"The rooms in this house are all the same from the inside. As long as you don't go out, Whispers'll never know where you are, not until he searches every room in here."

"Whispers is _here?"_

"Yes," Lito says. "He is outside. Riley asked Sun to take care of you, but that was before there was a fucking _army_ parked outside these gates. Sun left to take care of Riley, with Wolfgang, but the others are… well. Let's just say that Nomi hates Mexico with a _passion,_ yeah?"

He blinks. Shakes his head. Tries to see if anything Lito said made sense.

"…why does Nomi hate Mexico?"

He grins, and it's handsome on Lito's expressive face. "No wifi. Which means that there's no way for her to protect Amanita. Or the rest of us."

Which makes sense; the fighters in their group are him, Sun, and Wolfgang. Lito can bluff and Kala can fix them up, but Nomi is needed to take care of the wider world. While they fight Whispers, she deflects attention from everyone else.

"I should be there," he says.

"If you were, the battle would be over," Lito replies. "I know it isn't your fault, man, but you're… you're like mustard gas, you know? Dangerous as hell, but if the wind blows the wrong way we're just as fucked as the others."

Will flinches, and tries to act as if he hasn't. Cold ice trickles down his back; he knows the truth when it's spoken and this _burns._

"I can feel your rage," Lito says knowingly. "I know you're angry, Will, but going out there is a _bad idea._ So sit down, and we'll-"

"Talk?" Will asks, just a hint past bitter. Then realization hits, and his eyes fly wide open- narrowing in on Lito with every inch of his rage and confusion. "Wait a minute- Lito. You said you could _feel_ my anger?"

Every emotion is written on Lito's face, and guilt is the most potent one there. "Will…"

" _Feel it?"_ He barks.

Damn them all. He'd thought he'd felt different, that there was a piece missing of himself, but had dismissed it as a fanciful idea, one that was just a result of drugs and paranoia and panic.

But it hadn't been, had it?

"Who made the decision?" He asks, deadly calm. This is Will at his most dangerous, and it appears that Lito knows.

Still, he stalls.

Just enough to piss Will off even more, and that's when every last inch of his restraint fades, replaced by sheer _outrage._ His bruises and vertigo disappear with the rush of adrenaline; almost before he knows it he has a hand fisted in Lito's shirt and the other man's skull is cracking against the wooden lintel.

 _"_ Who fucking took away my ability to _feel, Lito?"_ He all but bellows.

"Will, calm the hell down right now," Lito is saying, panicked and shifty, but there has been _enough_ subterfuge among them. He'd walk into the mouth of hell for them all. Doesn't he get the courtesy of the _truth?_ "Will!"

"Who," he hisses, eyes narrowed on Lito's, seeing nothing else, "decided to erase my ability to feel you and the others?"

His eyes dip half-shut and then rise, meeting Will's with the barest hint of defiance. "Wolfgang."

"Oh," Will says. And then, " _Oh."_

Riley had asked _what did he do to you,_ and he'd immediately thought of Whispers because he was the only man who could hurt him, or so he had thought. But it wasn't Whispers, or any other such person.

It was Wolfgang she'd referred to, and he felt the keen sting of betrayal, but nothing else.

No feelings from his eight other selves.

"Why?" Will felt rage a moment before, but now it's tempered with uncertainty and no little amount of confusion.

"You were screaming," Lito says flatly. He pushes backwards, against Will's shoulder, and they both step away from the wall. "You were screaming, one night on the boat, and none of us knew how to stop you. Or why it was happening."

"…Whispers wanted to talk to me."

He shrugs. "Kala said, and I quote, 'we have a natural limit of endorphin-release we can take. Our body regulates it in normal humans, but when we're the _sensates,_ I think what happens is that when one of us feels something immense, that overloads others' feelings for a brief amount of time. Then we come back to ourselves.'" He mimics her perfectly, and Will feels a snort bubble up, even if there's little humor behind it.

"And what's that supposed to mean?"

"What she meant was that we unconsciously control the amount of _feeling_ we can experience. But what happened to you was dangerous, because Whispers- she thinks- took away your ability to control that. So any time we felt something, you felt it too, on top of your own feelings." Lito shudders, but for once it isn't theatrics. "You survived, yeah, but we had to make a choice and we did- let you go mad or take away your ability completely. It wasn't the best idea, maybe, but well… what choice did we have, right?"

The ache of disloyalty and betrayal hasn't yet faded, but Will still nods. He wraps an arm around himself and hunches backwards. Maybe there'd been another choice, but he doesn't think there was one, not in the time that they had, not in the maelstrom of fear and chaos. That he's sane and able to speak, move, and think is a testament to Kala's brilliance and Wolfgang's faith.

"You said there was an army," he says instead.

Worry glitters bright in Lito's eyes, dull and blunt. "Yeah. Sun and Wolfie are a little outnumbered, but far as I can tell they're doing okay. It's going to be about twenty more minutes before we have to leave."

"Why would we leave?"

"Because Kala's going to send us a signal, and you're going to run." Lito smiles, and it's hard and sharp and ugly, but above all it's _real._ Will feels his mouth twitch back. "I'm staying with you for some time, we're going on the run. I can't explain, Will, not as much as I want, but rest assured all seven of us think it's for the best. One of us is going to stay with you. We have a plan. Right now, what we're asking for is faith and patience."

His eyes catch, hold Will's. There's a promise there, and Will thinks that, he'd give up anything and everything to keep their faith in him; his faith in them is as unshakeable as the sea, or the mountain, or the earth itself.

He wants to say _of course you have my faith_ , or, _I don't have anywhere else to go_ , or even, _I'd walk into the mouth of hell for you_. But what comes out is: "Why not? Sounds like an adventure."

* * *

Two days later, Will has no idea where he is and doesn't quite care.

They've given him a pair of mirrored sunglasses that hide the fact that his eyes are completely closed, and the others spend day and night with him, a constant presence by his side. He can tell by the touches themselves, now, who is with him- Nomi always keeps a hand at his elbow, Lito's always at the back of his neck, and Capheus walks close enough that he jostles Will every time. They whisper in his ear, where to step, how to move; Will has bruises along his legs and arms, but he might just be getting the hang of moving without being able to see.

He can see the sky, though, right over the rim of his sunglasses, but only at the right time. His shoulders have to dip and his neck has to arch and more often than not that makes the glasses slide further up the bridge of his nose, but the right angle and it falls. He spends most of his time aching for those slices of blue above the stifling red of his glasses.

The moon above is the same, from Iceland to Norway to Germany to beyond. It's probably the one thing that's completely safe to look at, so he does, right up until he thinks he could map out the seas and craters.

Right up until the silvered light feels like a weight on his shoulders.

And he walks, now. The steps are mind-numbingly boring behind the film of red, the world consisting of shades of blue and the soft words of people that aren't actually there, but it is all that is there for him. Will walks, and as long as he does Whispers can't find him, and has no reason to.

They know that he is alone. That is what matters.

"Turn left here," Nomi's voice is gentle around his left shoulder. He turns left, then- "A pothole in five, four, three, two, _jump._ Okay, follow me,-" she guides him until he can feel the rough stone of the storefront jostling his right shoulder. "-the hotel's right here, we booked it a couple days back, pretty generic, all told."

It's a lesson in trust, one where he can't talk to her or see her, but needs to believe her nonetheless. Once inside the hotel he speaks to the concierge with the words Nomi whispers in his ear, and in his room he goes to sleep without taking off his glasses.

The stars, he thinks, and wants to scream. Patience is overrated, certainly, but it is necessary at this juncture. The other seven are agreed, and are planning something, but the silence is driving him mad.

It's when he starts thinking like this that he remembers Lito's eyes, and the fervor diminishes a little.

The next morning he walk out with Capheus by his side, and heads into the fray once more.

It's the strangest definition of freedom Will's ever heard of, but he'll take it.

* * *

 **Before you read this chapter, I'd like to thank all of you who reviewed, alerted, or favorited me. It made my day!**

 **And a number of people both reviewed and PM'd me about Sun being OOC; I wanted to address the issue right here: Sun's not _trying_ to be mean, or cruel. However, she has spent an overwhelming majority of her life alone, and while she is breaking the bonds of her old life, she's also very... angry-confused-scared. Working through that mess will take her time, basically, and Kala doesn't realize that asking to help Sun at that point is just being patronizing.**

 **To Sun, not to anyone else.**

 **Ugh. I'm bad at explaining this, but Sun's not cruel-hearted, not at all, it's just that her world is changing and she can only go with the flow and she _hates_ that. I think. **

**Moving on to Will- there are going to be a bunch of questions at the end of this chapter, I know it, but please don't think too much? He's more than confused, and writing from his POV is _difficult._ Next couple of chapters should answer some questions that you have, so be patient.**

 **Some extra notes, if you want to know: _goyangi_ is Korean for kitten (See? Sun's not _that_ bad) and _elskan_ is Icelandic for darling. The food Will eats is an ethnic African food called _ugali,_ and the orange porridge is coconut and sweet potato pudding. Bit like comfort food. And Wolfgang injected Will with a serum that takes away his ability to feel the other sensates, a serum that Kala made. They injected him because he was going mad. He leaves Riley and Wolfgang because reasons. **

**And, I think that's all...**

 **Reviews inspire me!**

 **-Dialux**


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